Doodling
by Crazy4Moony
Summary: Mello likes brushes and ink perhaps a little too much, and Matt’s his unwilling empty canvas. Sometimes hidden messages, just aren’t all that hidden – and Matt’s about to find out that what Mello wants, Mello gets.


_Doodli__ng._

**AN: for Hunter! Sorry it took me so long****, I got the request from Ben ages ago. And I know it sucks. I know. And it's weird—and they're so OOC, because I gave Mello a hid—... okay. I'm depressing myself. On with the story!**

Mello was not insane. He swore he was not insane—yes, he had a hidden artist inside of him. No, that did not make him insane. If Matt just stopped wriggling for five seconds, that would be superb. Stop that. Mello is not insane!

"I hate you," Matt growled darkly, promising death and demise and pain and horrible, horrible deceases. Mello would pay—oh, he'd pay good. Never mind the fact that Matt had promised that the last seven times Mello did this to him. This time he meant it. He meant it so much more than that time when Mello had woken him up in the middle of the night—really he did.

"I'm making you pretty Mattie, stop moving!" the blonde glared down at his target, absentmindedly scratching his chin with the end of the quill.

"I was pretty before!" Matt objected, sulking. He gave a yelp when Mello put his quill back to his stomach, dripping dark ink on Matt's marble skin—dammit, he'd only had a bath yesterday! Not to mention that his skin started feeling raw, the quill accidentally cutting his poor belly, tinny crimson droplets mingling with the black. Mello seemed to not know or care.

"I'm almost done!" Mello exclaimed triumphantly, moving a bit on the boy chest—ignoring the fact that he was practically suffocating Matt with his bum.

Matt eyed said bum in distaste, yelping again—he felt the ink drip onto his sensitive skin and dribble down into his navel. Mello swore.

"Dammit! Look what you did!" he took a piece of toilet paper and started dipping at Matt's body, trying to erase the ink he'd spilled.

Matt growled. But of course, Mello wasn't insane. No. He'd claimed so himself, many times before... Matt didn't buy it anymore. He had been about to bloody pee! His trousers were around his ankles Goddammit! Of course he'd been so naive to believe that although perhaps Mello wasn't exactly normal, that although maybe he'd lost his marbles, not even Mello would disturb him when he was about to take a leak. Once more, he had been proven wrong—it served him right; he had completely underestimated the extent of his friend's not-so-sane mind.

"Mello get off!"

"Nice try Mattie—didn't work the last ten times, did it?" Mello mocked the poor attempt, deeming his friend a bit week—it was rather late, but he'd at least expected some sort of snide remark. Nope, Matt wasn't even trying anymore. Ignoring this conclusion, he continued using his friend's stomach as an empty canvas.

"Why me-he-he?" Matt whined—deciding that he had every right to, even if he was a tough-ass eight-year old. He could whine. It did not make him a baby.

"Because your skin is nice and pale, ya big baby," Mello commented plainly, focusing on his work of art.

"Use Near!" Matt frowned, trying to not notice how Mello had just called him a baby—he wasn't. Not even when he whined.

"Too small."

"You're so mean Mello!" Matt sniffled, pouting at his best friend's back. Stupid Mello.

"Am not! We're contributing to the magnificent work of art, you should feel honoured to have a real Michael on your body."

"Oh yes—I felt honoured the first time, when you politely asked me to use my body as your sketching patch," he snarled, feeling feisty—yet sleepy and he needed to pee, dammit! "When you started tackling me at random moments, the feeling quickly shifted to utter annoyance. Meany!"

"I don't tackle you," Mello objected stubbornly—absolutely out to deny the truth. He had never tackled Matt in his whole entire life! Really, he hadn't. Just like he _wasn't_ insane.

"Yes you do!" Matt shrieked shrilly—then gasped when the dark ink ran down the curve of his hipbones, staining his exposed, red Super Mario Bros boxers.

"Oh, 'm sorry," Mello muttered, distracted from the redhead's muttering as he dipped the ink away—Matt couldn't help but blush as he felt the boy's nibble hands trying to clean his boxers, "whatever Matt. I'm done."

He got off his best friend, taking his small container of ink, and just as soon as he'd come, he was gone again. Matt frowned, slowly getting off the floor—his head hurt a bit, due to the knock with which Mello had forced him to the floor. His friend might be complete and absolutely bonkers—he had rather good sketching skills. Too bad he couldn't wait for the ink to dry. So instead, he went to the toilet, peed and distinctly ignored the ink dripping down his body. When he managed to look at himself in the mirror, he saw something that should have been an angel—though now it resembled a big stain that had wings.

--

"Mello, we're studying, remember?"

"Nuh, _you_'re studying," Mello grumbled, continuing to draw dark figures on Matt's arm.

"I need my arm now Mells," the blonde ignored him completely, and Matt sighed. He could've known—it'd been ages since Mello had used his body for sketching, "almost done?"

"Nuh. It's gonna be a master-piece Mattie," the boy's eyes twinkled, and he stuck out his tongue in thought, "you'll have to wait."

Matt sighed and decided to give up on trying to understand his best friend. Just let Mello do what he wants—that'd always been most beneficial for the both of them.

--

"Matt?" he had almost dozed off when Mello spoke—the motion of the brush against his lower back was very soothing, and Mello's breath against his skin, even more relaxing.

This time, at least Mello had _asked_ before tackling him onto the bed and attacking him using ink. It was a rather messy situation, Matt on his stomach on the bed with Mello straddling his hips to enable him from moving. Actually, in a strange way, it was really very nice.

"Mhm?" Matt tried to suppress a groan when Mello started breathing against the markings on the pale back.

The ink cooled quickly with the contact of Mello's breath, and the redhead shivered at the feeling. He felt Mello move off and was almost sad to realise he had finished his new masterpiece.

Mello cleaned his hands on his black skinny jeans, flashing his friend a smile while Matt slowly sat up straight. Taking the ink and his brush, he headed for the door—before he left, he turned, his face suddenly sullen. Matt frowned, but before he could ask what was wrong, Mello said: "I love you," and left, closing the door behind him.

When Matt finally snapped out of his trance, he stumbled to the mirror, wondering what art he would find on his lower back. Checking his reflection, there were only two words, painted on his skin; 'Mello's Matt'.

**AN: yeah, I'd like to say that wasn't so bad – but it was and I know it. Still, I like MelloMatt, MattMello, so I'm pretty proud to dish out another one, either way. It was amusing to write, so yeah. Comments, anyone?**


End file.
